Good Men
by PennyStarling17
Summary: "There are days where Sherlock will look over at his flatmate and wonder how he could have missed it."


Set sometime after Sherlock returns from his three years gone after Reichenbach.

Italics are flashbacks. Johnlock is implied/established. (Not overtly, mind you.)

Fair warning: both John and Sherlock have a few screws loose in this story.

* * *

"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." -Edmund Burke

(But then, as Lestrade pointed out, Sherlock's not a good man, now is he?)

* * *

There are days where Sherlock will look over at his flatmate and wonder how he could have missed it.

_"Victim's twenty-three. No immediate or extended family. He recently came home from a deployment in Iraq. He was a major in the Army."_

Even now, it wasn't clear most days, hidden beneath unsuspecting smiles, soft jumpers, and kind gestures.

_His eyes slid over to John, who looked unconcerned, if a bit... tired? Weary perhaps?_

He was a good actor, putting everyone at ease was second nature to him, and he was clever- more clever than anyone gave him credit for.

More clever than Sherlock himself ever gave him credit for.

_The former soldier's eyes had been gouged out, his heart expertly plucked from his chest. _

_"His attacker has a medical history," Sherlock muttered absently, noting how John was carefully avoiding his eyes._

_He'd been doing that a lot lately, ever since his abrupt return._

"Tea?" Sherlock nodded at John's offer, taking in his cheery smile.

It's still hard to comprehend how they all missed it.

_"John?" he stood and gestured at the body. _

_He barely glanced at it before saying, "His heart being cut out was what killed him. Too much blood loss."_

John handed him a mug and nodded at the phone that lay on the detective's knee. "Any new cases?" he asked carefully as he sat in his chair.

_John was right, of course. But the empty tone of his voice gave Sherlock pause and he swept his eyes over his friend._

_Tired- obvious. Sick? No, shows no signs of illness. Stress? Possible. Strange look in his eyes- anticipation?_

_No. That couldn't be right._

"Not yet," Sherlock answered, taking a sip of his tea. "Eventful night last night?"

John smirked. "You could say that."

_Sherlock gave his other findings to Lestrade before leaving the scene, John on his heels._

_Once they were seated in the cab, he asked quietly, "Alright, John?"_

_The doctor hummed absently as he watched out the window. "Just waiting for you to figure it all out, Sherlock."_

An incoming text made the detective's phone vibrate and pulled his attention away from his friend.

_John declined coming with him for the rest of the case- strange, but not entirely uncommon these days._

_The investigation dragged on for several days, Sherlock continually running into dead ends and false leads._

_It ended with the suicide of the victim's best friend- who's suicide note confessed to the murder._

_Scotland Yard was satisfied, but Sherlock wasn't._

_None of it made sense! Yes, the suicide made sense to a guilt-ridden individual, but the person who killed the late major was meticulous. Whoever it was felt no guilt over what they were doing._

"Lestrade," Sherlock hummed. "He has a case he wants us to look at."

John nodded and stood, grabbing his jacket and tossing Sherlock his own.

"Let's not keep him waiting then."

_He returned to the supposed killer's home to see if he could find anything that he had been previously overlooked- unlikely, but it did happen sometimes._

_The discovery of a bloody knife was not what he was expecting to find._

"Victim's twenty-five. He was a reporter," Lestrade glanced down at his notes before continuing, "Had a wife and two kids-"

"And a mistress," Sherlock added, taking in the lipstick stain on the man's collar.

"Could have been from his wife," John offered, eyes narrowed at the detective.

"But it's not." He pointed to the wedding ring. "Tight on his finger and unpolished on the outside. Think back to our first case, John. The only polishing it gets is when he's working it off his finger."

_The blood matched the suicide victim, curious as the knife used to slit his wrists was still in evidence._

_But there was something else..._

_Where had he seen this knife before?_

"Ok, he has a mistess," Lestrade looked overworked and in need of a drink- possibly from fighting with his wife again. Sherlock made a note to remember to tell John to go to the pub with him after the case was solved. "Jealous lover? Crime of passion?"

"Perhaps..."

_It clicked and made Sherlock frown in confusion._

_Why was a knife from his kitchen covered in blood and at the scene of a suicide?_

_His mind went to Moriarty- was he trying to frame one of them?_

_No, the knife was placed deliberately at the scene, long after the police were through with it. Someone had wanted him to find it._

_Someone that knew he wasn't satisfied with the neat conclusion that Scotland Yard had come to._

_But... why?_

"Gunshot wound..." Sherlock glanced up at John from his position by the body. "Your opinion, doctor?"

He knelt to and inspected the body. "It appears as though his skull was cracked open. Shot and fell over, broke open his head when he landed?"

Sherlock nodded, "It would seem so."

_He returned home to find John sitting in his chair, head resting on his hand as he stared blankly at the couch._

_He looked up at Sherlock's arrival and smirked when he saw the knife in his hand. "Wondered when you'd find it."_

The case ended soon enough, Sherlock finding the killer to be the murdered man's brother-in-law, who was furious that his sister was being cheated on, but was swearing up and down that he didn't kill his brother-in-law.

The evidence spoke for itself though, and the man was imprisoned.

_Sherlock sat on the couch, eyes glued on John- John whose eyes were dark and cruel, whose lips were twisted into a mean looking scowl._

_John, who wasn't acting at all like the John Watson that was Sherlock Holmes' best friend._

_"It was you," it wasn't a question._

_"Took you long enough to figure it out, Sherlock." John locked eyes on him and waited._

_"Why?" He was sitting stock straight, mind trying to reconcile the John of now with the John he knew- or thought he did._

_"Why?" his voice was mocking. "Do you really think you're the only one who ever gets bored, Sherlock?"_

With his eyes closed, Sherlock asked him, "Why did you kill this one?"

John hummed absently. "Because I didn't like the way he looked at you." He padded closer. "He was one of the reporters that called you a fraud, you know."

Sherlock nodded, acknowledging his explanation. "And the brother-in-law?"

"He abused his wife," was his answer as he sat across from the prone form of the detective. John's lips twisted into a hateful grimace as he muttered, "Can't cheat on your wife, but it's alright to beat her?"

_Sherlock stared in disbelief at the man sitting in front of him. "Will you... explain?"_

_"Explain?" the harsh features of John's face softened as he considered to offer. "Which part?"_

_"I assume this isn't your first kill?"_

_"You know it's not."_

_"You know what I mean."_

_John tipped his head in acknowledgement. "No, it's not."_

_"When did you begin, then?" Sherlock leaned forward._

_He smirked, an ugly, cruel smile. "I killed my first when I was twelve." He shrugged at the carefully controlled surprise on his flatmate's face. "My father wasn't a nice man, Sherlock."_

_"Do you only kill them if they're 'not nice'?"_

_John leaned closer and murmured, "Depends on if I'm feeling generous or not."_

_He stood suddenly and paced to the window, murmuring fondly, "You know, my mum always said, 'life isn't kind, so why should you be?'" He laughed lightly and turned back to face Sherlock. "It's easy to fool everyone- even you! The great Sherlock Holmes needed me to leave clues to finally figure out who I really am."_

_"And why did you allow me to find this?" he demanded, leaning back when John came to sit on the coffee table in front of him._

_"Because I know you won't turn me in and," he laughed again. "Genius needs an audience, right?"_

_Sherlock blinked and opened his mouth, only to close it again._

_For once, he completely unsure what he should say._

John commented, "It only took you two days to figure it out this time. You're getting faster."

_"How many of the cases you've solved have been created by me, do you think, Sherlock?" John wondered, leaning closer, his eyes shining with barely contained madness. "Even before we met, how many do you think you solved without knowing that it was me that killed the victim and found a suitable person to take the fall for it?"_

They sat in silent for a moment before Sherlock murmured, "Thank you, John."

"For?" He turned to see the doctor's eyes dancing with amusement.

"The boredom was killing me. Thank you for the case."

_"How many people have you killed?" he finally got out, mind still unable to process this new information._

_John threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, Sherlock," he smiled. "I lost count of that _years_ ago."_

Sherlock grinned as John placed a kiss on his forehead and murmured, "Anytime, love."

_"I've been a bit sloppy ever since you came back," John continued. "I thought- or rather, I was hoping you'd figure it out." He shook his head. "I didn't think I'd have to leave you this many clues, Sherlock."_

_They sat in silence, Sherlock reeling and John contemplating, eyes locked on one another._

_John spoke first. "You're taking this better than I thought you would."_

_Sherlock looked down. "I just found out my flatmate's a serial killer. A serial killer that nobody even knew existed. The deaths were so far from connected..." He shook his head and laughed. "I shouldn't be... alright with any of this..."_

_"But...?"_

_"But, you're my friend," he looked back at John. "And I only have one of those. Don't want to loose you now, do I? Not when you're being so delightfully interesting."_

_John snorted. "Glad I've caught your attention, you wanker."_

_"You already had a part of it. I'll be more inclined to offer it to you more often now, of course."_

_"Of course," John repeated, a fond smile on his face, looking much more like the John in Sherlock's mind._

_Sherlock nodded to himself. Much better. Much more like John._

More often than not, Sherlock would arrive at a crime scene and figure out that it was John that placed the body there. That was never the part that was hard to figure out.

No, the difficult part was trying to figure out who John had framed.

But then again, that was also the fun part.

* * *

_Looks like Sally was right. They were standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes was the reason it was there._

_He just wasn't the one that killed the victim to get it there._

_No, that was John's honor- a simple gift to alleviate the boredom statementing Sherlock's mind._

_He still found it funny when Sally tried to persuade him away from Sherlock._

_As if _he _was the one that needed to protecting._

* * *

This is for the prompt on the Sherlock BBC prompting meme: 'While working a case, Sherlock finds out that the serial killer is John.'

I'm not 100% satisfied with my Sherlock voice, but I did my best.

This was actually rather hard to write, so I'd like to thank my friends, Rebecca and Laura, for their encouragement, and the fact that it's summer and I have the time to focus on writing.

Let me know what you thought!


End file.
